Bobby's Daughter
by WinchestersGirl
Summary: Syd Singer never really talked to her father. Now the Winchesters entered Syd's life. Will they help Bobby come back into the picture? And what happens to Dean when he romances Syd? [Dedicated to people with bad ParentChild relationships.]
1. Navy Doctor

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter One**

I hate back roads.

I had just gotten off from work – I am a doctor at the local ER – and was driving home a little after midnight. That has nothing to do with my hatred for back roads. My hatred for back roads comes from the fact that at least twice – sometimes three times – a year someone is in a car accident on the road that I use to get home. And me, being the good civilian… well, not really – I am a Navy Reserve Doctor. Anyway, I, being the good person I am, just have to stop and help them. And that leads to another dose of the ER which leads to getting home at three in the morning, which leads to sleep deprivation.

Either way, I had just rounded a corner in my 1997 black Camero when I saw it. What a beauty. A 1967 Chevy Impala – _navy_ blue, so it must be a sign.

It was wrapped around a tree.

Damn it. And I was hoping to catch the late viewing of the David Letterman show. There go the good times.

I pulled over and parked before hoping out. I popped the trunk and grabbed the first aid bag.

When I got to the beautiful car, I noticed two people. One blonde haired man was in the driver's seat. He looked to be a little older than me. He was passed out and blood caked his forehead. He didn't look too bad until I glanced below his shoulders. His arm was twisted at a rather disturbing angle. It didn't look broken but definitely dislocated and sprained.

"Sir," I asked. "Sir, my name's Sydney Russo. Can you hear me? I would like to help you."

Getting no answer, I went with my training and made the assumption that he would want help.

I opened the door, which practically fell off in my hands. Great and dandy.

Luckily, the man wasn't wearing a seatbelt. I grabbed him under the un-hurt arm and around the waist before securing my hold on him and pulling him out. He moaned in protest, still unconscious.

I laid him on the ground and put him in recovery position.

I went back to get the second guy, whom would be a little harder to get out since he was against the side of the car which was wrapped around the tree. He wasn't there.

There was no way he could have gotten out of that car. He was injured worse than his brother. A hell of a lot worse.

No stinkin' way.

I shook my head and turned back to the blonde. I had to focus on him.

Flipping out my cell phone from my pocket, I called 911.

"911. What's your emergency," the woman asked.

"This is Dr. Russo," I introduced myself.

"Syd, what's wrong?"

"Nicole," I said, realizing my friend was working tonight. "I have another car accident on Clinton Road. Can you send out a rig? I'll ride with them."

"Sure thing. Give me ten minutes."

"Thanks," I said, closing and pocketing my phone. I went back to my patient who was just beginning to show signs of waking up. "Sir?

* * *

Catch the pop references? 

One: Clinton Road is a haunted road in New Jersey. Sussex County, I think. Or maybe it's Ocean County… Not sure.

Two: The navy blue Impala and Navy doctor. Hahaha… just had to throw that one in.

Three: The David Letterman Show.


	2. Caregiver

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Two**

"Sydney," Dr. Davids said, walking over to me.

I had gotten the male – we still didn't know his name – to the hospital. After Nicole heard I needed help, she phoned Wyatt Cole – a close medic friend of mine – and told him about my ordeal. He showed up with flashing lights three minutes after I dialed 911.

We got the nameless male to the ER and fixed him up. Dr. Davids was technically on call so I left the man to him.

"How is he," I asked.

Mark Davids answered, "He's alright. Dislocated shoulder with a sprain. He'll live. We don't have a name or insurance card though. Hell, we don't have a wallet."

I was about to respond when a nurse who was working on the nameless man called out from his room. "Dr. Davids, he's coming around."

Mark looked to me. "I'll take care of him," I said with a smile. "Thanks."

Mark nodded as I walked to the man's hospital room. The nurse, Melanie, was standing over the man in the hospital bed. "Sir," she asked. "How are you feeling?"

"Like Led Zeppelin attending a Britney Spears concert."

I snickered, "Well, her chest would entice him."

Melanie turned around. "Syd," she said with a smile. "I thought you went home."

"Well, a car wrapped around a tree stopped me," I said with a smile, directed at the man. "Melanie, I'll fill out the charts for this one. Thanks."

Melanie nodded and handed me the chart before walking out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"I'm Syd Russo," I said, sticking out my hand at the gentleman. "I found your car hugging a tree and stepped in. Lucky for you, I'm a doctor."

"Crap doctor. My arm hurts," he replied, using the hand not in the sling to rub it against the arm in the sling. I dropped my hand and grabbed the seat next to the bed.

"Crap driving. Gieco wouldn't take you." He shut up. "_Anyway_, I pulled you out of the wreckage. There was another man in the car."

"Where is he?" Suddenly, the smart ass became the worried.

"I'm not sure. I got you out of the car and went back to help him. He was gone."

"Shit," the blonde muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"When can I get out of here," he asked.

"When you're better. So, let's fill out this chart. Name?"

"Look lady-"

"Syd." He glared at me. "Or Dr. Russo."

"Syd," he bit the word. "I'm not staying here. I have to find my brother."

"Name," I asked, ignoring his complaining and continuing with the chart. He started to get out of the hospital bed. "Sit before I call security."

He glared at me. "I'm not staying here."

"Why?"

He contemplated. I could tell he was deciding on a lie to feed me. "I don't have insurance."

I contemplated. This guy could be a murderer. He could be rapist. But that didn't stop me. "Then you can stay at my house and I'll make sure you get better. For free."

* * *

Catch the pop culture references?

One: Wyatt Cole from the TNT show, _Saved_.

Two: Led Zeppelin

Three: Britney Spears

Four: Gieco


	3. Home Owner

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Three**

"Home, sweet home," I declared, pulling into the driveway of my house. (We had snuck out of the hospital fifteen minutes before.) It sat far back on a piece of property surrounded by woods – and I owned all sixteen acres of it. My house was white with sky blue accents. It was three levels with a wrap around deck. A little ways off the house, I had a large garage built – made to match the house. It contained my cars that I fix up for a hobby. (Right now I was working on a Corvette. I had just finished a Thunderbird.) My house was a ten bedroom, twelve bath. Trust me, I didn't buy this. My Grandfather passed it on to my Mother who passed it on to me.

I pulled in and parked the car, looking to my passenger – Dean. I couldn't even get a last name out of the dude.

"Looks like the Adams Family," Dean grumbled. Since he hurt his right arm, I had to open the door for him after grabbing his duffle from the trunk.

I laughed. "Nah, more Amityville Horror." His eyes got wide. "No, no," I told him with a smirk as we walked up to the front door. "It is haunted, but not by anything evil. Trust me. I'd be the first one out if the ghosts were malefic."

"Oh," was all I got from him as I unlocked the front door (not like I really needed to lock it anyway). I pushed it open and we made our way inside.

He admired my living room. It was a sandy color with books everywhere. I had even gone to the great length of putting them in order – by subject then by title in ABC order. There was a fire place and several comfortable sitting chairs. "Nice crib," he commented.

"Thanks," I said with a smile. "Hungry?"

By now it was three in the morning. And I was hungry – I had eaten dinner at seven. He followed me into the kitchen which was a yellow and spacious because I liked to cook. It had three ovens, just to prove my point. I opened the fridge and pulled out a purified water container. He scrunched up his nose at this. I put it back and grabbed a Snapple. He pretended to gag. I pulled out several more drinks, to which I got some type of disturbing 'no' answer. Finally, I reached far in the back and pulled out the whisky bottle that I used for cooking. He smiled.

"Drunk," I accused playfully.

"Hey, you weren't the one in a car crash."

"I was the one who had to deal with the guy in the car crash. Not to mention the stupid guy who came into the ER today, high out of his mind from pot."

"My brother's missing."

"So, he's your brother?" Dean closed his mouth. "What's his name?"

"Sammy," came the reluctant answer.

"Sammy. Do you guys have a last name," I asked, handing him the whisky. He drank it all in one shot. I poured him some more.

"Winchester."

"Like the gun?"

"Like the gun," he answered with a slight smile and downed the second glass of whisky.

* * *

Pop References:

One: Adams Family

Two: Amityville Horror. Isn't that New Jersey too? Lol.

Three: Snapple.

Four: Winchester guns.


	4. Haunted

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Four**

After we grabbed something to eat, I showed him to his room on the second floor. It was three doors down from my room. I had purposely given him the room that had the windows welded shut for some reason. Just so he would have all the more trouble escaping. And hell, I knew he was planning on it. Not to mention, the room I gave him was haunted by the maid my Grandfather had.

Boy it would be fun to see him react to that.

"Need anything, holler," I told him as I dropped his bag at the foot of his bed.

He nodded and I left the room, walking toward mine.

I took a quick shower and changed into a sports bra and long night pants. I had just lain down when I heard a gun shot. What the hell happened?

I shot out of bed, stopping to grab my _Winchester_ gun from the night stand. Ironic, huh?

Running to Dean's room, I passed Betsy – the ghost from the Revolutionary War. Her story was actually kind of sad. Her honey never came home to her like he promised. So she basically went crazy waiting for him. Turned out he married George Washington's daughter. Some honey he was. So now she just walks down the hallway on the second floor. Not that I mind her or anything.

Once I got to Dean's room, I kicked the door in. Apparently, Dean had been trying to get out of the room so the door hit him in the face. He fell backward. "What the hell," he asked, scrambling up. He pushed me out into the hallway and, upon seeing Betsy, sent a bullet into the wall.

Well, that solved the mystery of who shot the gun. Without Catherine Willows' help. Damn TV.

"Jesus," he cursed. "You're house is haunted."

"I told you that," I said, pushing him out of the way to access the damage to my burgundy wall. He had just missed a photo of my father. Stupid man. (I mean both my father and my houseguest.) Finding no damage, I turned to him. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

"Is that Bobby Singer," he asked, staring at the picture of my dad.

"Robert Singer," I corrected. "Yeah, why?"

"How do you know him?" He was still transfixed on the photo.

"He's my Dad."

"What?" Dean looked at me, jaw hanging slightly ajar.

"Yeah," I explained. "I took my mother's last name because my father was never around." That's when it struck me. My dad was a hunter, so he made sure – when he was around – that I had a little training in the supernatural field. Dean had shot at a ghost. Was he a hunter?

"What do you know about your dad," Dean asked.

"What do you know?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

"I asked you first."

"I'm a lady."

"That's debatable."

"Dean!" I tried to slap his head, but he held up his gun. He wasn't threatening, just making a point. So I held up mine. "That's filled with rock salt I'm guessing," I told him. "Mine's a silver bullet." He grumbled something and lowered his gun. I followed suit. "My father's a hunter. I know. And I know you are too."

"Have any coffee," he asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Where did his mind go so quickly? I mean, I know men have short attention spans, but come on!

"It's gonna be a long talk."

* * *

Pop References:

One: Winchester gun

Two: Catherine Willows from CSI.

Three: Jesus. Hahaha… lol, just had to add that in there.


	5. Daughter

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Five**

"So," I asked, setting a cup of coffee in front of him. I set my own cup of tea down at the dining room table before grabbing a seat across from him. "What do you know about Mr. Singer?"

We had made our way downstairs after Dean promised not to tear up my walls with rock salt. I made him coffee and we decided to talk in the dining room, because, frankly, this was the only room not truly haunted.

"You mean your dad?" He took a sip of the coffee.

"Mr. Singer," I corrected. "He wasn't around enough to earn the title."

Dean bit back an 'oh'. "Well, talk about dysfunctional."

I shot him a look. "Dean…"

"Bobby and my dad were friends. They sort of had a small falling out."

"How small?"

"Think Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton."

I nodded. "Oh."

"Yeah. Bobby's helped us time and time again. With anything supernatural."

I laughed sarcastically. "Sounds like my father."

"He's a good guy, Syd. Just a little… supernatural oriented."

"Yeah. _I_ could tell you his family came last."

"Listen," he said, sternly. "I'm not the one to talk about family dynamics. I'm just telling you what I know about your dad. Alright?" I bit back a comment and nodded. "He's in South Dakota and lives at the Singer Salvage Yard – his own business."

"Figured as much. Any little brothers and sisters I should know about?"

"Syd," he said, grinding it out more than speaking it. "You and your dad might not get along. And I don't care what you think of him. But if you ever think he's immoral – you're as wrong as… as…"

"He was for leaving me," I suggested.

"Yeah. Yeah." We were silent for a little while, each to our own thoughts. "So what do you know about the supernatural world?"

"Enough."

"Enough as in I can't get enough of Playboy or enough as in I've had enough of Kevin Federline's singing?"

I rolled my eyes. "Enough as in I don't go out and look for the things but I know how to protect myself from them." He nodded and we fell into a little silence. "Tell me about your life."

"My life," he chuckled.

"Yeah," I said with a soft smile. He watched my eyes for a second before deciding it'd be okay.

"My dad raised Sammy and I to hunt. Kind of been doing that ever since. We're searching for a demon."

"Something that took your Mom?" He looked startled. "Well, you didn't mention a mother, so…"

"Yeah." We fell silent again. "Is that road haunted?"

"Huh?"

"The road my brother disappeared on."

* * *

Pop References:

One: Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton.

Two: Kevin Federline

Three: Playboy


	6. Friend

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Six**

"No," I said, looking up from my computer to Dean, who was sitting on the desk. "Nothing suspicious."

We had retired to the office – a hunter green room with more books and a computer.

"Any local lure," he asked. "There's got to be something."

"Nothing." I clicked on another link.

"Move," he said, getting impatient. He practically shoved me out of the seat and took over.

"Ass," I muttered, standing up straight.

"Got it," he told me before reciting, "Serial killer caught in Hanscom County. Apparently, he was tortured as the method of killing."

"Tortured? What happened to not having cruel and unusual punishment?"

Dean shrugged. "Guess it's like Paris Hilton and that sex tape."

"What," I asked, bewildered. This guy was starting to scare me sometimes.

"She showed no decency. The punishers showed no leniency."

I rolled my eyes. "First off, that made no sense. Second, for a drifter, you really have a good knowledge of current day affairs."

He laughed. "Sweetheart, you dunno the half of it."

"That made no sense either."

"Come on," he said, getting up and grabbing my wrist with the good arm. "I wanna show you something."

He pulled me downstairs to the first floor and outside. "What are we doing," I asked with a smile. The sun was coming up on the horizon. Sometimes I woke up after I've worked all night, just to see this.

"If you're gonna help me, I wanna make sure you can cover my ass."

"What," I asked as he grabbed the gun from the back of his jeans. He set it on the ledge of the railing and went out into the yard. I had some targets lying out there from when Wyatt – the medic friend – came over and we would do some bow and arrow shooting. Dean set them up. "There's no way in hell that I'm helping you do this."

"Syd," he tried. "You gotta. Your dad would."

"Don't talk about my dad," I told him as he came back.

"Fine. But you gotta help me. Just this time, Miss Singer."

"That's it," I yelled. That was the good thing about owning so much land. No one would hear you scream. "I'm not helping you." I started to go inside.

He blocked my entry to the back door by putting his good arm in front of me. "Sydney, help me this once and I swear I won't come back."

I looked up to his eyes and they seemed to be begging. "Fine. Just this once so we can find Sammy."

He nodded, appreciatively. "Let's show you how to shoot."

* * *

Pop References:

One: Hanscom is an Air Force base in Massachusetts.

Two: Paris Hilton and the sex tape.


	7. Shooter

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Seven**

"Hold it just like this," Dean said. He was attempting to show me how to hold a gun. But he was at a disadvantage. He only had one hand to show me with.

And I knew how to shoot a gun. That was one thing my dad had shown me.

But I wasn't about to tell him that.

I wanted to play him.

"Like this," I asked, purposely holding it the wrong way.

Okay, it's not like I wanted to go out with Dean or anything. It was just… he was cute. Really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really cute. Alright, I cave. He was down right gorgeous. And my age. And he was flirting with me and I was flirting back. So, yeah. I was looking for a one night stand. And if Dean wanted to go out with me and have more than a one night stand? Well, I'm all for it.

"No, no," he said before muttering under his breath, "I'm gonna fuckin' die with you covering my ass."

I laughed. "If you get shot in the ass, I'll be sure to take care of it."

"I'm sure you could take care of it fine." We locked eyes for a second before he looked away. He started to take off his sling. "I don't need this anyway." He tossed it on the floor. "Now let's show the girlie the right way to hold the gun." He wrapped his arms around me and positioned us so we were aiming at the target. "Just like…" He adjusted our aim. "That."

I turned my head slightly. And we were inches away from each other's mouths. "Like that," I whisper asked.

"Like that," he answered, looking at me now.

And I shoved the gun out of our hands, letting it fall to the ground. Pushing him against the deck railing, my hands graced his shoulders. Our lips collided and he grabbed my hips before shoving me against the railing, switching our position.

He nipped at my bottom lip as I let my hands slide to his jeans. I was just ready to pop the button when he pushed us apart.

"No, no," he said, walking away and running a hand through his hair. "You're Bobby's daughter. Sam's missing." He ran his opposite hand through his hair. "Damn it," he cursed, recoiling at the pain.

I picked up the sling from the ground. "Sit," I commanded and pointed to a chair on the deck. He listened. I put the sling back on gently. "Let's keep our distance, Dean. No sexual encounters, alright? At least not until this thing is over."

He nodded and walked into the kitchen. I could tell that's what he wanted. For now at least.

And I wouldn't mind it all that much either.


	8. Car Lover

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Eight**

After clearing up the misconception that I do not know how to shot a gun, we did a little more research. Actually, he did it while I made _STRONG_ coffee and scrambled eggs with bacon. That'd do us over for awhile.

"So, you never told me," I said, putting the eggs on a plate as he went over the papers he printed out at the kitchen table. "How'd you ruin that body?"

His eyebrows shot up and he looked at me, amused. "What?"

"Your car."

"Oh." He looked down to his papers. "There was someone in the street and I swerved to miss 'em."

"Really? Could it be our ghost?" I placed his plate in front of him and he shoved his papers aside before digging in.

"How'd you know?"

"My dad did teach me a few things when he was around. Basic stuff though. So what's with our ghost?" I sat across from him.

"It says that the serial killer, Ryan Gallagher, chose men who could not fight back. Several children, one elderly man, and disabled men. Sick puppy that he is." Dean said, getting lost in his own thoughts.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Continue."

"Oh, okay, right. Uh… it says here that he kept them alive for at least seventy-two hours. He made them beg to die." Well, this would be fun. Hopefully we all wouldn't get captured. That wouldn't be fun at all. "The bodies were recovered in his home just off of Clinton Road."

"Do I wanna know how?"

"Limbs found one place, heads the other."

"Thanks, Dean," I said, pushing my plate away from me.

"You asked." He shrugged.

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too.

"Did too."

"Did not." He looked confused. "Wait, what'd I just say?"

"You agreed with me," I smiled. "Good boy." I petted him on the head as he grumbled. "Let's get going Dean," I said, picking up my plate and his. "We've got a lot of work to do."

* * *

Pop References:

One: Ryan Gallagher is a singer. Country music I believe.


	9. Jacked

**Bobb****y's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize__…_

**Chapter Nine**

"How am I supposed to carry this," I asked Dean, referring to the huge sack of salt and gasoline he gave me. I shuffled the duffle on my back again.

We had driven to the edge of Mr. Gallagher's old property and gotten out, being sure our guns were loaded.

"Figure it out," he told me, glancing back and giving me a smirk.

"Bite me. If it weren't for your stupid arm…"

"Quiet, Syd." I shut up. "Hear that?" There was a low moaning sound.

"Sammy," I asked.

He nodded. "I'm gonna kill that bitch if he hurt Sam."

"Yeah, yeah. That's the thirty-second time I've been told."

"And I mean it," he told me as we continued on our journey to the house which was about three-hundred yards away. "I'm gonna rip his ass limb from limb."

I rolled my eyes. "You could really win over any woman with these lovely ideas," I told him. I was trying to keep Dean from a stage of rage by making some smart remarks. That would be no good.

"Damn straight." And we continued. We had just reached the front porch of the house when the moan became a scream. Dean cringed at the thought it might be his brother. "I'm coming, Sammy," I heard him whisper.

And then Dean kicked down the door. There was blood everywhere. On the walls, on the floor. In the middle of the room, there was Sam. I knew it was him. You couldn't miss that face. He was hanging in the middle of the room, shirtless. There was torture marks up and down his chest and only God knows what on his back.

"Move it, Syd," Dean shouted, as he went into the room, already shooting at Ryan.

I obeyed and ran in, starting to untie Sam. "Sammy," I asked him as I released the last piece of rope. He collapsed to the ground. "Sammy?"

He moaned. "It's Sam."

I smiled. "Good to meet you, Sam." He passed out.

That's when I heard Dean. "Shit," he cursed as he was thrown against the wall.

I turned to look back at Gallagher, but it was too late. I came face to face with him. Then I passed out.


	10. Hurt

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Ten**

I woke up and I was tied to a table. My shirt was off and there was already a gash on my stomach. Not too deep, but I could tell it was from a knife. And it hurt.

I looked around. There he was. Ryan was watching me from the corner. He stepped into the light that illuminated the small basement-looking room.

The only thing I saw was his knife as it gleamed. Blood hung from it. My blood.

Crap. Now what do I do?

He smiled a menacing smile and slashed my stomach. I screamed in agony, "DEAN!"

Ryan cut me at least twice more before deciding to cut me else where. So he started to undo my pants. I protested but it was useless. I was tied up by my arms and legs.

"SYD! Syd, where the hell are you," I heard Dean yell. "Sydney!"

"Dean," I screamed, but Ryan put his hand over my mouth.

He shushed me before cutting my cheek slightly. "Be good," he warned and went to find Dean.

"Dean," I screamed. "He's coming!"

The next thing I knew, the door was kicked in, knocking Gallagher down. Dean ran in and untied me quickly. I had just gotten off the table when Gallagher was getting back up. He threw the knife at us, hitting Dean in the shoulder.

"Fuck," Dean swore.

"Don't remove it," I warned. "I'll take care of it later."

Dean nodded. "Get out of the house. Burn it if I come out or not."

"Dean," I started.

But he had already turned back to Gallagher, shooting rock salt at the spirit. "Go, now," he yelled at me.

So I ran. I ran up the stairs and into the living room where Sam was only a short period before. He wasn't there. I ran outside and saw Sammy leaning against the tree a safe distance away. Thank God.

I turned back to the house and saw that Dean had already doused it in gasoline. I grabbed the matches, said a prayer to forgive me and help get Dean out safely, and dropped it.

Flames engulfed the house in seconds.

I ran back to Sam. "Sam, Sam," I shook him. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"Dean," he moaned, before going back into unconsciousness.

I looked up to the house. That's when I saw him.

Dean.

He ran out of the house, one arm over his mouth, the other holding his gun.

He slid into place next to Sam. "Sammy," he asked. "Sam? Wake up." He shook his brother slightly.

"He's fine, Dean," I said, placing a hand on his arm. Dean looked up to me and locked eyes before turning back to the house and watching the flames. "We should call the cops."

"We need to make sure it's burnt first."

"Trust me, Dean. It's burnt."

He smirked a little. "Let's get Sammy outta here."


	11. Undressed

**Bobby's Daughter**

_I do not own anything you recognize…_

**Chapter Eleven**

We got back to my house and I patched Sammy up. We let him sleep on the couch so we could keep an eye on him. Hopefully, he'd wake up soon since his injuries were more like the dog's bark compared to its bite.

"Dean," I said, standing up and grabbing the first aid supplies we used on Sam. Sam was lying on the couch while Dean and I had been sitting on the coffee table next to it, patching up the younger Winchester. "Come on. Let me take the knife out of you."

I placed my free hand on his arm, but he jerked it away. "No. I'm fine."

"Dean."

He glanced up at me. "Alright." He followed me into the kitchen. I set up my supplies on the counter next to the sink while he leaned against the opposite side of the sink.

I grabbed the whisky he had started on last night. "This is gonna hurt," I told him and handed him the bottle. He took it with his good arm and downed a gulp.

"Bring it on."

I grabbed the knife in one hand and rested my other against his arm to steady myself. "Ready?" He nodded. "On three. One, two." I pulled. He groaned in pain. The anguish was easily seen on his face. I dropped the knife in the sink and grabbed the whisky bottle. "Drink," I told him, holding it up to his mouth.

He did as I said.

I set to work putting on antibiotics and sterilizing the wound. I placed the dressing on, finally. He winced in pain as I gently pushed on it. "Sorry," I told him.

I went to move away, but he grabbed my hip. "Don't be," he said gently. "Thanks."

"No problem," I said with a slight smile as we watched the other's eyes.

That's when it happened.

His lips on mine. My arms around his neck. His hands on my ass, pulling me closer. Tongues clashing.

He pinned me to the kitchen sink before deciding better of it and plopping me up on the counter.

Twenty minutes later, we were just about to head south of the border.

My shirt was God-knows-where and his was probably in the same area too. Shoes were kicked off and all that remained was jeans.

We had moved from the kitchen to the dining room table – it was around there that my shirt got lost – and up the stairs. Once we reached the top step, he fell on me. That's when my hands went to the zipper on his jeans.

"Dean," I moaned as he started to kiss my neck. I swear I could feel the slight smirk on his lips.

"Sydney," he breathed.

There went the zipper on his jeans and down they went.

"Dean? Dean," we heard Sam call.

Dean pulled back. "Sammy, I'll be right there." Dean gave me a quick kiss on the lips before pulling back. "Later," he whispered in my ear.

* * *

Pop References: 

One: "Bring it on" was a movie.


	12. Nasty

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Sexual situations.

**Notes: **I loved how you were all like 'Darn, Sammy ruined it!' Lol. That was great! Enjoy!

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Later? This guy wanted later? Nope. How's that for later?

He managed to stand on the stairs and put his jeans back on before pulling me up by the waistband of my own. "Sorry, Syd," he whispered, "Family before pleasure."

For some reason that didn't offend me. Either way, he walked down the stairs and turned into the living room. I went back to my room and threw on a shirt. I winced at my wounds which I had cleaned before touching Sammy. (Can't mix blood. Not a good thing.)

I went downstairs and into the living room. "How's he doing," I asked Dean with a smile.

"Good," Dean answered. "Wounds aren't bleeding anymore."

"And you," I asked him.

"Doesn't hurt a bit," he replied with a smile before turning to Sammy. "Sam, this is Syd Singer."

"Russo," I corrected. "I don't go by my father's name."

Sam sat up and looked me up and down – getting his first impression. "As in Bobby Singer's daughter?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"We're staying here for a day or two," Dean told Sam. "Until you heal."

Sam nodded. "What did this?"

"Stupid ghost," Dean cursed. "Bitch that it was. Syd and I took care of it though."

"You hunt," the younger asked, directing the question at me.

"No; just this once."

Sam nodded as Dean interrupted, "Listen, Sammy, go back to sleep. You've been through hell dude. Almost literally." Okay, crappy joke, Dean. "Syd's tired and so am I. We'll hit the sack." I bet you're thinking about that a different way than I am. "And talk to you tomorrow, cool?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam answered like an obedient child. He snuggled down into the couch. "Night, Syd. And thanks." He flashed me a grin before looking to his brother. "Night, dude."

Dean ruffled his brother's hair. "Night, Sammy."

Sam's sighed. "It's Sam."

"Whatever," Dean said, turning around. I walked in front of him and into the foyer. Dean flipped the light switch, putting Sam in darkness.

I walked upstairs, ignoring the Winchester. I no sooner got to the doorway of my bedroom and Dean grabbed my elbow.

"Where were we," he asked in that husky tone, pulling me flush up against him. One hand snaked around my stomach and the other went to the button on my jeans. I pushed the latter one away before attempting to get the first one.

"You were just about to head to the guest room."

He grabbed the wrist that was trying to get his hands off of me (the other one was pinned between my body and his arm) before handing it to his other hand. His empty hand went back down to the button on my jeans again.

"Not so sure about that, Sydney," he whispered, licking an 'S' on my bare shoulder blade.

"See: I was," I told him. He had two more seconds before I gave him a nice shiner. "Get off."

He left a kiss here and there all across my back. Okay, two more seconds and I might just give in. No. No. That's what he wanted. "Syd," he whispered in that voice again, "let me…" He didn't finish that thought.

I had turned and slammed him up against the hallway wall opposite my bedroom door. "Winchester, you have five seconds to get in your room before I kick your sorry ass out of my house."

"Sydney," he tried to breathe and talk at the same time since I was holding his airway closed. "Please let go."

"Why?"

"I'll have to hurt you if you don't."

I scoffed.

Then he got me. He had flipped us over so I was against the wall. He shoved me up so I had no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist. Bastard.

With one hand he pinned my hands above my head. The other he let slip up my tank top. He pushed a little harder causing me to feel the want that we had ignored when Sam called.

"Oh, shit," I cursed, head lulling back.

"Yeah, I know," he whispered, mouth coming down on my shoulder.

I let him taste my skin for a few seconds before deciding that I didn't want to sleep with the great Dean Winchester. He could take care of his want out in the Impala (a friend offered to fix it up for me, so until then it was in the driveway), because I sure as hell wasn't going to do it; and if he did it in my house: boy, he'd pay.

"Okay, D.W.," I told him, "Take care of that outside."

His tongue went a little further south, gracing the edge of my bra. "Why? You can do it for me. Pretty well, I'm guessing." I leaned back against the wall before shoving forward, causing him to lose his balance and hit the ground hard, with me on top. "Shit, Syd," he hissed when the cut on his shoulder got jerked around.

"Yeah, shit, Dean," I told him. I was about to get up when I got a very, very, very, very nasty idea.

I let my finger trace his want slowly. Just once though. This pleasure caused his back to arch.

I stood up and walked in my bedroom. Turning around in the doorway, I whispered to him, "Enjoy," and locked the door behind me.

I faintly heard the whisper, "Fuck you, Sydney."


	13. Brunette Type

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The next morning I came downstairs in my bathrobe. 

Sam was sitting in the kitchen eating some type of breakfast. "Morning," I said. "How's the wounds?"

"Not bad," he answered. "There's some pancakes on the counter there. Dean made 'em." I scrunched my face up. I'm guessing the male was a bad cook. "He's really not all that bad," Sam said, as if reading my thoughts. "At cooking I mean."

I nodded. "Cool. Thanks. Speaking of, where is the jerk?"

Sam hid a smile. I'm pretty sure he knew Dean tried to get laid. "The car."

I gave him another smile before disappearing outside. I went down to the Impala and found Dean inspecting it for damage in the engine. "Cool off last night or the summer heat get to you?" His head shot up, hitting the hood.

He gave me a look. "What do you think?"

"I think that summer heat… just gets the best of you, ya know?" I smirked. He locked eyes with me. "How is she?"

Dean turned back to inspect the damage. "Not bad. Just her body really. Engine's good; transmission even better; and everything else isn't horrible." He checked one last thing before turning back to me. "Know where I can get a good body," he asked as his eyes swept of my not-so-fully-clothed-form.

I tightened my bathrobe. "Yeah. Auto place in town. And if you look in the right places," I added, "there are some ladies who want a handsome blonde to sweep them off their feet."

"You might be one of them," he asked, squinting from the sun behind me.

"I'm more for the brunette type," I replied, heading back toward the house.

"Anywhere I can get hair dye?"

I ignored that comment.


	14. Packed

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Dean came back from town later that day with a grumble. He stormed into the living room where Sam was watching TV. I heard the front door open and came to see who had slammed my _antique _door. Cause they were going to pay.

"We're leaving," was all Dean said to Sam before heading upstairs – presumably to pack his bag.

Sam looked at me, questioningly, and I shrugged. "Better pack," I said. "He doesn't look like he wants to wait."

"Yeah," Sam sighed and grabbed his bag from the floor. He started to stuff some of the things he had taken out back in.

I went upstairs and into Dean's room. I knocked on the door. "May I," I asked, being polite.

Dean looked up from his bag. "Yeah."

I came inside and sat on his bed. "What's wrong?"

He went back to packing. "Nothing. Just can't get a body here."

"Where can you then?"

He shrugged, "Somewhere."

"Where's somewhere?"

"Nowhere." Okay, he was asking for it. He put his bag on the bed next to me before zipping it up. "Thanks for everything, Sydney."

And he started to walk out of the room.

"My father's. You're going to my father's salvage yard because he has a body for you." Dean stopped dead in his tracks. He paused before putting his bag down gently and turning to me. "That's why you won't tell me."

He nodded. "Yeah."

I bobbed my head gently and sighed. "Why are you angry about that?" He wouldn't answer. "Dean?"

"Because, Syd. He hurt you. You're this great girl and he's not in your life. I can't think of any reason on why he'd want to do that."

"And you're mad because he left me."

"Yeah."

"Well, then," I said, standing up and walking past him, "I better pack if I'm gonna keep you from killing Mr. Singer."


	15. Bored

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

So this is what guys do on a road trip?

We had left my house about two hours ago. Dean informed me about ten minutes ago that we still have twelve hours until the Singer Salvage Yard. Right now we were driving in the car – the boys in their proper seats, me in the back, even though it was my car (theirs was being towed over).

Sam was asleep, head against his window, drooling.

Dean was driving and adjusting his music to a lower level for Sammy.

I, however, was bored out of my mind. These guys had done nothing fun at all.

Maybe I could play some mind games? Nah. Maybe sleep? Nah. Too caffeinated. Maybe read? Nah.

I caught Dean's eye as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

"What's up," he asked, focusing on driving again.

I shrugged. "Nothing." We were silent for a few minutes. "So this is a Winchester car trip?"

"Yeah. Fun, huh?"

"Completely. We going to grab a hotel or just go straight to Mr. Singer's house?"

"Up to you." Okay, so Dean was being completely considerate. He wanted to let me decide when we should see my father.

I paused to think about it, absently biting my lip in the process. "Let's get a hotel. Finish the trip in the morning."

"Hotel it is then."

Eight hours later – without a pit stop mind you – we were checked into a hotel. Tomorrow we would complete the last four hours of our trip.

Dean's arm was still in a sling because he had put too much strain on it when he shoved me against the wall the other night, popping his homemade stitches and pulling the strain he gotten in the crash again. Sam still had bandages adorning every limb. So I carried my bag while Sam carried his brother's and his, me leading the way to the room.

I jammed the key in the door and turned it. I pushed open the door and stepped in after flipping the light switch.

Two beds. Yeah, just as I thought.

Dean brushed past me and sat on one bed. "Mine," he declared.

I narrowed my eyes before sitting next to him. "Guess we'll just have to share then because Sammy can't sleep on the floor with those wounds." I smirked.

He kept my eyes while Sam huffed into the room, mentioned something about being called 'Sammy', and dropped Dean's bag on the opposite bed and took his own into the bathroom. We didn't mind Sam as he announced, "I'm showering."

Dean gave me this wicked grin and I had to look away for fear of blushing.

"What's wrong, Sydney," he taunted, smirk hard on his face. "Afraid you'll lose the battle?"

"Battle," I asked, my eyes whipping back toward him. "Dean, I could beat you in any battle."

"If I remember correctly, I had to save you from that ghost."

"Shut up."


	16. Cold

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It was midnight.

Sam had long ago gone to sleep – jeez, the kid could be in la-la land forever: he had slept six hours in the car already. Dean was sleeping too, careful not to rest on his stitches, so he was on his right side. I had just finished showering and slipped out of the bathroom's steamy warmth into the cool motel room.

I tossed my dirty clothes into my mesh bag and quickly slithered into the bed behind Dean. He must have been keeping a spot warm for me because it felt like a butt warmer that's been on for just the right amount of time.

I curled up in my usual position, the fetal position. It was comfortable for me. (But apparently, if you ask some psychology students, it means that I'm insecure. Go figure.)

I closed my eyes at first, but that didn't help my want of sleeping. So I opened them and stared at Dean's back.

God, there were so many toned muscles. I don't think I studied that much in medical school.

And there was the nasty knife wound: flesh clashing with black stitches. Every time he moved the muscles tensed, the stitches pulled.

Absently, my finger wandered over and traced it. I could feel his body getting goose bumps, but he didn't stir.

Deciding I shouldn't be touching him because he might wake, I climbed out of bed and walked outside, closing the door gently behind me.

I stood in the moonlight, leaning against the railing. It was sort of chilly and my attire (boxers that acted as underwear and night pants at the same time with a tank top) didn't do much to help.

"Trying to get a part in Ice Age," a Winchester asked from behind me.

I turned around, standing up. It was Dean. He had his jacket in one hand and closed the door behind him with the other. He was only wearing his boxers.

"No," I said amused. "Just couldn't sleep." He didn't even bother to check me out as he wrapped his coat around me before leaning on the railing next to me. He was facing the motel room door and I was looking out into the parking lot.

He was silent at first, but then he spoke, "You worried?"

I glanced at him, but he wasn't looking at me. "Make me a promise."

I saw him glance at me out of the corner of his eye. Total topic change, I know. "What?"

"You won't leave us in the same room together alone."

He watched me for a second before nodding. "Yeah. Okay."

I watched his eyes before deciding he was telling me the truth, so I returned the truth: "Yeah. I'm a little nervous."

He seemed to let this register before pivoting his body. He stood behind me and leaned over me, putting his chin on my shoulder. His arms outlined mine as he whispered, "Don't be."

And for once, the thought of pushing him away didn't even register.

* * *

Pop References:

Car butt warmers. Gotta love them!

Psychology study on sleeping positions. That's actually what the fetal position (when you're sleeping) means.

Ice Age!!!! Lol. Love that movie.


	17. Truthful

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

We arrived at Mr. Singer's yard by ten the next morning.

Dean got out of my car before helping me out. I stood there just taking it in for a few seconds.

It wasn't much. Just a house with tons of cars nearby. And a dog that barked and barked and barked.

Dean rolled his eyes as I moved to let him close the door. "Sam, get that thing."

Sam spared me a glance before nodding and heading toward the dog. "Gates," he yelled. The thing kept barking. "Christo!" The dog's yaps quieted. Wow: saying Christ in Latin shut the thing up. Interesting.

"Come on," Dean said, pushing me forward gently.

"Do I have to," I whined slightly.

"Gates, what the hell," Bobby said, bursting outside, rifle in hand. He scanned the scene. "Sam? Dean?" He lowered his gun. "I thought you'd be here sooner, boys." That's when he caught sight of me. "And you brought company?"

It was obvious Bobby didn't recognize me. It hurt a little, even though I didn't expect him to know who I was. He hadn't seen or heard from me since I was ten.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Bobby, this is Sydney Russo."

Mr. Singer's eyes hardened. "Sydney Russo?" I nodded, reaching for Dean's hand. Maybe he'd give me a comfort squeeze. He only pulled his hand away, probably scared of what Mr. Singer might do if he thought we were dating, even though we weren't. "You know a Maria Russo?"

My turn to play dumb. "Um… not really." Dean hit my ankle with his. Fine. "Actually, yeah." Sigh. "She's my mom."

Bobby looked a little dizzy before passing out. Sam caught him before he him the ground.

I glanced at Dean who was already on his way to help my father.

Well, then.

This would be interesting.

* * *

Pop References:

Gates is the secretary of something… defense? Anyway, Rumsfield – I'm guessing – died. So Bobby got a new dog, Gates. Both dogs' names are references to the secretary of whatever. Lol.


	18. Challenger

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sam and Dean had brought my father into his living room. They were tending to him while I looked around a little.

It was a… cozy house, for lack of better words. With all the demon symbols and things adorning the walls, it wasn't some place I'd like to grow up. Otherwise, it was cluttered and it was small enough for a family of three – even though he was the only one who lived here.

"Dean Winchester," I heard Mr. Singer boom. He must have woken up, "what is she doing with you two?"

"Bobby," that was Sam, "she just came along for the ride-"

"Did I ask you, Sam?" Oh, he was testy.

"Sir," that was Dean, "she's just here to see you. We ran into her on a hunt."

"She was hunting?!" Yeah, so what if I was?

"No, sir," Dean backtracked. "We met her after we got in the accident that totaled my car. She's a doctor at the local ER. She let us stay at her place and helped me with a hunt."

"Why couldn't Sam? Why did you have to bring her into that?"

"Because Sam was taken by that thing." Mr. Singer got quiet. "Bobby, I didn't sleep with her if that's what you want to know."

"Fine." Pause. "You're bringing her home. She doesn't belong here."

Okay, I had enough. They wanted to talk to me or about me, well, I'm right here.

"Mr. Singer," I said, rounding the corner, "with all due respect, I'm staying with the Winchesters until they're done here."

Robert Singer stood from his place sitting on the couch. "You're leaving, girlie, and that's the end of it."

"Then I'm going kicking and screaming."

"That's the way you'll go then."


	19. Unwanted

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Twenty minutes later, after Sam had convinced Mr. Singer to let me stay, I sat on the guest room bed. Dean and Sam were taking the den.

"So let me get this right," I said, carefully weighing my words before they were spoken, "you're leaving for a movie?" Dean was sitting on a chair across the room from me while Sam sat on the bed.

The elder shrugged. "Yeah."

"A movie?"

"Yeah."

"A movie?"

"Yeah."

"A movie?"

"Yes, Sydney!"

I rolled my eyes and lay on the bed. "Fuck you."

"I'd let you, but your father's in the other room."

I jumped to get to Dean, but Sam managed to get a hold of me and stop me. "Let me get him, Sammy!"

"I'm not Sammy," he started. "Sammy's eight and chubby. I'm Sam."

"Ugh," I groaned, "Just leave!" Sam left without any questions.

Dean remained and smirked and I really, really wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.

"What," I asked, finally, tired of the games.

"Your father wants to know you. Give him a chance."

"He had one. It was from ages one day to eighteen years."

"Sydney," he sighed.

"And when your father doesn't come to your high school, college, or medical school graduation – you know he doesn't want you."

Dean paused and shut up. I could tell that even his father went to his graduation. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Yeah, well… don't be," I said awkwardly.

He nodded and headed out of the room.


	20. Outgoing

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Sorry for lack of updates!

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The boys had left about an hour ago. 

And I was still hiding in my bedroom.

So what? I wasn't going out to meet him. The jerk could come in here for all I cared. Or we might just not talk at all. That'd suit me even better.

Knock, knock.

Great. I just had to think about him and he just had to come running.

"Sydney?" The door creaked open slightly. It was Bobby. "I uh- I just wanted to see if you wanted to watch a movie or do something. A game? Shoots and ladders maybe?"

"Do I look five, Mr. Singer?"

The hurt registered in his eyes and I could tell that he didn't know how to handle the situation. But neither did I.

"Alright then," he continued, "I'll be in the yard working on a customer's car."

Half an hour later, I was going nuts. There was nothing to do in my room and I wasn't about to wander out.

Well, okay, maybe I was.

I headed outside and around back. My… dad… was under a car probably fixing something I couldn't comprehend. "What's wrong with it?" The words came out before my mouth could stop them.

He didn't even flinch, so he must have seen me coming. "I'm not sure. The car bumps a lot after speed bumps. That's what I've been told."

"Struts are shot," I said automatically. My friend who worked on cars back home had just fixed my own car for the exact problem.

Bobby paused before rolling out. "How'd you know that?"

"My car," I said, nodding in the general direction of it, "had the same problem a few weeks ago."

"Hm," he said, standing up, "you'd be a killer hunter."

"I thought you don't want me to be one."

"I don't. And you won't be. But you would be."

"Hm," I said in the same tone as my father.

We were silent for a second as he went about playing with his 'toys' (tools for work) and I leaned against a hood of another car.

"How much you remember about me," Bobby finally asked.

And there wasn't much to tell. "Just when I was eight and you taught me to shoot. And when I was sixteen and you visited for a day – passing through town."

His eyes got a far away look. "Your mom never told you about the day you were born?"

"No," I said, curious. "Why?"

This would be good.

* * *

Pop References: 

One: Shoots and ladders. Hehehe… awesome game!


	21. Visited

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"If she didn't tell you, I probably shouldn't," Bobby said, eyes returning to the present moment. 

He started to go back toward the car, but I wasn't about to let him.

"Mr. Singer," I said, angrily, "I have every right to know what went on the day I was born. If you don't tell me, I bet I can track down the nurses that helped birth me."

See if he takes the bait.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

"Fine," Bobby sighed, turning toward me. "You really want to know? Fine." He started toward the house at a fast pace and I followed. He went into his office and started shuffling through some papers on his desk.

I stopped at the doorway. "What are you doing," I asked. "I thought it was just a story, not show and tell?"

Finding what he was looking for, he picked it up and shoved it in my direction. I grabbed it before he could take it back. "That was your father," he said.

I scanned over the picture for any resemblance, but there was none. I was Robert Singer's daughter through and through. "I'm lost," I admitted to him, looking up to his anger-mixed-with-sadness face.

"Your mother told me – the day that you were born – that you belonged to him: Eric Ackles. She told me that you weren't my daughter, Sydney. That's why I was never around."

There were a lot of thoughts swimming through my mind, but I had to straighten this out. "But why would she tell me you were my father then?"

Bobby sighed. "I'm sorry to say this about your mom, but she was a bit… loose. Especially around the time I met her."

"You mean you two were a one night stand?"

Bobby nodded, sorrowfully.

"So let me get this right," I started. "My mother tells me that you left us because you 'couldn't handle a child'. I grow up thinking that you were a horrible father because of her. But in reality, she was the one who pushed you away because she wasn't sure of my parentage?"

Bobby nodded, looking away. "Sydney, if I had known I was your dad…"

"How do you know you're my father?"

"When I visited you – the time you were sixteen – I took a bit of your DNA and got it tested."

"You never shared with mom or me?"

"You hated me already and she barely let me see you."

"You only stopped by twice in my whole life!"

"Sydney," my father said, pleadingly, "I stopped by once a month – sometimes more. She never let me in."

* * *

Pop References: 

One: Eric Ackles. Actually, only the last name as it is Jensen's.


	22. Runner

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Nope.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I ran. 

I ran out of the room and house. I ran out off the property and down the gravel road.

I ran so far that it must have been a good six miles before I couldn't breathe.

Well, what can I say? My fellow gym goers would be proud.

It started to rain and I sat along side the road that had been my sole companion for the past six miles.

As I caught my breath, I saw headlights coming from the way I had just traveled. It could be a stranger or it could be my father – though I doubt both. Dad would have followed me sooner. As for a stranger, well, there are no houses back here and I hadn't seen one car yet, making me guess that this road was one less traveled.

The car, once close enough to see me, pulled off to the side of the road and shut down the engine.

Obviously it was Dean. He was hard to miss in the piece of garbage my father had lent him until the Impala was restored.

He got out of the car and slammed the door.

Dean started to stroll over to me with the air that said he was going to let me have a piece of his mind and the look that said he had something nasty to tell me. Boy, I was in for it.

I stood up, ready to hold my own against the great Dean Winchester.

He stopped in front of me, eyes beating down into my own. He jerked me against him, roughly, before smashing his mouth into mine.

Our teeth collided and our tongues meshed. It was seconds before I couldn't decide whose tongue, teeth, lips were whose.

He pulled back and jerked one hand toward the car. "Get in." Hell, I wasn't going to fight him.

I jumped in the car as he got in his side before turning the little motor on.

"What was that for," I asked once we were half way back to my father's house.

He shrugged. "You needed something to make you feel better." All without taking his eyes off the road.

"And practically tongue-fucking my mouth was going to help?" Pause. "Not that I'm complaining."

He smirked a little in the corners of his mouth. "It was a kiss."

"Just a kiss?"

"Just a kiss."

We were silent. Dean was going really slow – like fifteen or sixteen miles per hour slow – so I could have time to think, presumably.

"Dad told you," I asked.

"He's dad now?"

"More of a dad than my mom was a mom apparently."

He was silent for a second. "He told me."

"Care to comment?"

"No."

"Good."

He didn't skip a beat, nor look up from the road. "You care to comment?"

"No," I answered.

Again we were silent until we pulled into my dad's driveway.

"Dean," I asked.

"Yeah," he responded, killing the engine.

"I never thought I'd say this, but… thanks. You're a really… great… guy."

He smiled before smirking. "Don't choke on your words there, Singer."

"Excuse me," I said, mocking offense, "It's Russo until I say otherwise."

But truly, Singer fit just fine.

* * *

One more chapter – the epilogue! Hope you're enjoying! 


	23. Hitched

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **Last chapter!

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Okay, dad," I agreed, talking into my cell phone, "I'll come visit for the weekend." 

"I mean it, Sydney," dad continued to lecture. "I want to make sure you're all right."

"I wouldn't have told you about him unless I thought you could handle it, daddy," I pointed out. "Plus, I've dealt with drunks in the hospital before."

"You know I worry," my father continued.

"I know." I heard the front door open and close. "Hey, I gotta go. They just got here. Love you."

I clicked the phone off after hearing my father's "okay, see you soon."

It was three years after I met my dad. And we were doing okay. He told me anything I wanted to know and the way I figured, if he trusted me enough to tell me all that and made the attempt to be a dad, why shouldn't I let him?

So we were getting along even though we still lived in our respective houses – not any closer.

As for the Winchesters… well, Sam and Dean still hunted. But they liked to stop in – frequently. Dean had a reason: we were kind of a couple.

Sammy, however, just stopped in because Dean was here. But I did see him sneak out of the house once or twice. And when he came back in, he always had the same perfume and lip stick color all over him. He denied being with someone, but just yesterday I heard one of the ladies from town – Amy Spark – talking about her flame coming into town.

"Hey, Singer," Dean called from the front door, "your boyfriend's home from war!"

I smiled from my place sitting on the bed and called back, "Hey, Winchester, the name's still Russo!" I kept my old name just because Sydney Singer didn't sound too great. Well, it wasn't horrible, but I also still wanted a piece of my mother with me – even though I now knew how bad of a person she really was. "And last time I checked, my boyfriend was sitting in the Metillicar." I had dubbed his car this because of all the music he played in it. Plus, that sounds much better than 'the Impala' or 'the car'.

"Sam? Nah. He's a jerk. Totally cocky and pushy. Plus, he's in love with his car."

I rolled my eyes, hopping off the bed and toward the stairs. I stood at the top and looked down toward the front door where Dean was standing, bag at his side. "Really?" I took the steps slowly. "Because I'm in love with cars too."

"Hm," Dean pondered, smirk plastered in his stance, "I guess I could learn to love them."

I stopped in front of him, mirroring his grin. "Guess? Too bad. I like men who know. Like my boyfriend: he knows he loves me."

"He does?"

"Yup."

Dean nodded. "My girlfriend knows she loves me, too."

"Guess that makes two of us."

"Guess it does." Pause. "Want to have an affair?"

I burst out laughing as Dean picked me up. "Dean!"

"Hey," he scolded, walking upstairs, "we'll have the affair and then tell our spouses. I'm sure your husband wouldn't mind, right?"

I rolled my eyes at him and moved my hand to his wedding ring. "I'm sure he wouldn't."

* * *

Pop References: 

One: Metillicar. Self explanatory, right?

Awww…. See? All is right with the world! Lol.

Hope you enjoyed!

Thanks for staying tuned!


	24. Pregnant

**Title: **Bobby's Daughter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize…

**Warnings:** Nope.

**Notes: **I know I said I was done, but I just couldn't help it! Sorry!

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I was in deep trouble. Very deep trouble. 

We had gone to visit my dad and managed to tell him we were married without a showdown. That was good.

So Dad had let us share a room and act like we were married because, frankly, we were.

That was all last night.

This morning – around six – I woke up and tossed my cookies. Again, at seven thirty and once more at nine.

Now, I was lucky. Dad liked to sleep in as did Sammy. So no one would know, right? Wrong. I knew Dean was awake when I returned to the bed the first time because I snuggled up next to him and he stiffened. He was scared.

"Dean," I had whispered.

"Go back to sleep," he replied and rubbed my back gently.

And now it was nine-ten. I had been sick three times and Dean hadn't even got out of bed.

Okay, I was a little mad about that, but whatever. What I really wanted to know was why he was scared.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was still under the covers, facing the opposite side.

"Dean," I asked.

"Yeah?"

"What's going on?"

He shifted to face me. "What do you mean?"

"You're scared."

"No I'm not." And he turned to face the wall again.

Well, screw him then. If I had the flu and he wasn't going to take care of me, then we were going to have a problem.

* * *

It was six later that night and Dean was kind of avoiding me, only proving my father right: he wasn't husband material. Not that Dad didn't love Dean, trust me he did. It's just that he wasn't ready for Dean to marry his only daughter. Hell, I don't think he was ready for Dean to marry either way. 

"Dean," I said, coming into the living room. Sam had gone off to do something that he wasn't talking about and Dad was in the kitchen cooking dinner. Dean, however, was sitting in the living room watching TV, "dinner's almost ready."

"Okay." He didn't even move his eyes from the TV.

That was it. I wasn't going to take this any more. I fell onto the couch and let my legs overlap his. He wasn't going anywhere. "What's up," I asked, scooting toward his body while keeping my legs on top of his.

"Nothing." Didn't look at me again.

"Dean," I sighed.

"Syd," he said a little harshly, "stop. I'm fine. You're just sick and I'm fine. I just don't want to catch whatever you have."

"Sure," I rolled my eyes, "because last time I was sick, you were by my bed the whole time. Hell, you put me on bed rest. And I only had an _ear infection_. What's up with you?"

"Nothing." He shut down.

When Dean shuts down, it's hard to get him open again. Normally, he won't talk to anyone other than one word sentences and he won't look anyone in the eye. I hate it.

He pushed me off of him and got up, heading down the hall.

No. He was not doing this to me. Not today, not ever.

"Dean Winchester," I practically yelled, running down the hallway after him. I grabbed his arm and shoved him against the wall so he faced me.

"What, Sydney," he asked, fire in his eyes. "What the hell do you want from me now?"

"What I want is to know why you're avoiding me. I'm only sick. I've got the flu. And last time I checked, I don't have AIDS or anything else that will keep me from getting better. So I'm not dying. Give it up. What's wrong?"

"Good," Dean bit out. "Glad you'll be better in nine months."

"Nine months?" Okay, that confused me. Nine months… nine months… Pregnancy? Oh my god. Dean thought I was pregnant and wasn't telling him. "I'm not pregnant, Dean."

"Really? Last time I checked you were," he answered, calmer than before but still upset. He counted off with his fingers. "Morning sickness, that stupid craving for blueberries – you hate blueberries, you haven't had your period in weeks, you're always tired or moody, and your breasts are tender, not to mention your nipples are darker."

Did I miss this much? Dean knew a hell of a lot about medicine – more than I gave him credit for. And all these symptoms that Dean noticed and I didn't? Jesus, he should be the doctor, not me.

I was kind of speechless right now, so I just backed up. Was it possible I was pregnant? "How long," I managed. "How long have you…"

"Six weeks."

"And you're mad?"

He shook his head. "You weren't telling me."

"I didn't know."

"I can see that," he said with a slight smile. He stepped forward, placing a hand on either side of my still-in-shock figure. He pulled me into his chest and I just collapsed.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I really didn't know."

He kind of shrugged as I started to return the hug. "I thought you did."

I shook my head into his chest. "No clue."

"Jeez," he teased, "You aren't as smart as I thought."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Yeah; well, you know…"

"Yeah," he said with a small smile.

I paused for effect. "Dean?"

"Hmm?" He still wasn't letting me go; instead, he was holding me tight.

"You can tell Dad."

"Fuck no. You."

"You."

"You."

"You."

"Tell me what," my dad asked from the hallway.

We both looked at him. He must have come in when he heard the screaming.

I freed myself from Dean's grasp. "Dean'll tell you," I said quickly before jumping into my bedroom door behind me and locking it.

How's that for not helping me with my morning sickness today?

* * *

I know I said I was done, but I couldn't help it with this chapter. Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to everyone who asked for a sequel. Thank you so much, guys! Hope you enjoyed! 


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